A Norrington Shaken, Not Stirred
by BlueberryPancakes
Summary: Sequel to A Gillette. Shaken, Not Stirred. In which Revenge is served upon a cold plate and James has an “Et tu?” moment.


A Norrington.

Shaken, not stirred

The attack was swift and unyielding, showing no signs of remorse or regret as it was executed flawlessly, with dark and diabolical intentions.

Commodore Norrington's eyes went wide in slow realization of what was happening to him.

There was nothing he could do. He was falling. Down, down, down into the deep blue water. He landed with a hearty splash and grimaced at the stinging slap against his back, even through the coat and shirts.

"Man overboard!" A young sailor yelled.

"The Commodore- he's gone in!" Cried another.

James fought against the pull of the force created by his fall and kicked hard upwards.

"Andrew, did you…" Theodore Groves was at the other lieutenant's side in nearly an instant. He stopped when he saw the look of smug satisfaction on Gillette's face. "Andrew?" He gasped, voice scarcely above a whisper.

"Dinner party. The Governor's house, last May."

Theodore closed his mouth immediately, quickly gathering the point. His silence could be assured.

James broke the surface suddenly, water flying in every direction as he struggled in his oversized coat and uniform. His wig and hat had slid down, covering his eyes. He blindly tried to swim towards what he hoped was the docks, arms flailing frantically.

"Here, sir, here!"

A rope landed squarely on the top of his head, loose knot tightening as it was pulled back to reel him in. Unfortunately, the lasso's encircling grip hadn't taken hold of the Commodore, nor had he had time to grab hold of it, disoriented from the strike, and instead only his hat and what remained of his wig were pulled back to the docks. He slipped under again, gasping for breath as he did.

He forced his eyes open and reached down, tugging off both shoes and trying to remove his coat, when strong arms came around him and pulled him back up.

He coughed and groaned, as he was manhandled back onto the docks. He had never known just how heavy his uniform would become when sopping wet.

"Commodore Norrington, sir! Are you all right?" Andrew Gillette rushed to his side, kneeling down while Theodore Groves began to take off the soggy coat.

"You bloody rat! You pushed me!" James squeaked indignantly, sputtering out salty water.

"Sir? Are you sure you're all right? You're speaking nonsense. Are you sure you didn't hit your head on your way in?"

"You know perfectly well I didn't hit my head, _Andrew_!" James snarled darkly.

The other continued to look at him with what appeared to be concerned eyes. He turned, "Mr. Murtogg- fetch the doctor, the Commodore appears to have hit his head during his fall."

"Or was that what caused you to fall, sir?" He turned back, lowering his voice, though purposely not enough, so that the group of young sailors who had congregated around the three men could still hear.

Theodore stifled his laughter and turned his head, pretending to cough and clear his throat.

James's eyes shot daggers at his first Lieutenant. "You know very well why I fell in, Andrew." He uttered dangerously, voice low and guttural, purposefully not addressing him correctly while on duty.

Andrew's eyes widened for a brief moment, "Sir… but, I thought you said the fainting spells had stopped?"

A sudden silence fell over the crowd.

"What?" James squeaked again, "I never said that! What fainting spells?"

Theodore's face appeared pained as he gazed concernedly, "I didn't realize you were still having them. I thought I saw you stumble, but I didn't pay it any mind. I should have been watching you more closely, after… the last time."

James turned his head quickly towards Theodore, his face downcast, eyes visibly wounded. "You…" He stammered dumbly, "You too…"

"Now, now, where is he?" The Navy's doctor pushed his way through the crowd, "Give the man some room to breathe. That's it, back away, back away."

"I'm fine, really. Nothing to worry about." James waved him away, trying to stand, but finding himself unable at first, due to the weight of the dripping uniform.

"Nothing, eh? All right, help him up." The doctor shook his head, "Take him to my office, I'll examine him there."

"What? No! I'm fine!" James protested, trying to pull his arms away from Andrew and Theodore.

"With all due respect, Sir, if you've been having fainting spells, you should go. You might not have hit your head this time, but you might." A young sailor stepped forward slightly, still intimidated by James's tall and angry frame.

"Fainting spells? Yes, Commodore, I'm sure you're fine." The doctor said dryly, "Come along."

"You will both suffer for this. I promise you that."

"Honestly sir, we're only trying to make sure you're all right. You did take a rather nasty fall. It was lucky Fortuin was able to jump in when he did."

James just glowered.

It was nearly an hour later when the doctor finally emerged from the room, closing the door behind him. James had finally submitted to being examined, but only if it were to happen in his own home, so he could change.

"Well, I see nothing wrong with him, other than the fact that he must have gotten quite cold on the way up here. Fainting spells you said?"

"Ah, well…" Theodore stumbled.

"That was probably an exaggeration. You know the Commodore, he was working late quite a lot last month and I'm sure it was just normal fatigue. We'll keep an eye on him, and alert you if anything happens." Andrew said quickly.

"He must have stepped on a particularly slippery patch. We've all done it at one point or another, I'm sure." Theodore nodded in agreement.

"Very well, then."

As soon as the doctor had left, the two men turned their eyes back towards the closed door that led to James's bedroom. They stepped forward as quietly as they could and listened.

"I know you two bilge rats are out there. Come in and get it over with, already." James's tart voice came through.

"It's good to see you're feeling better, James." Andrew said, with a smile on his face.

James just glared from his position, sitting upright in bed. He had been sentenced to stay there for the remainder of the day and dare not report for duty until at least the next day, at a reasonable hour, after a hearty breakfast. "You had this all planned, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"I hope you're happy."

"Indeed I am, James."

A pause.

"You owe me a new wig."

The End


End file.
